


Little Love

by andchaos



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, also a handjob snuck in there when it wasn't supposed to, as in I am bitter so here is fluff, bitter fluff, but yeah mostly just
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:17:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3673812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> He ignored Mickey’s irritation, the way he turned his head and glared out at nothing like he couldn’t even look at Ian when he was being like this. Ian, of course, had to push it. “My love. Little Mickey. Mickey, my little love.”</i>
  <br/>
  <i> Mickey shoved him off, muttering expletives and stalking out of the room. “Ugh, are you still fucking on that?” he shouted, while Ian snickered to himself in their bedroom. “Give it a rest!” </i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In which Mickey’s a little insecure and Ian’s (more than) a little in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Love

**Author's Note:**

> For [Elaine](http://www.cockslutovich.tumblr.com), who ruined me with the idea that Ian might call Mickey his little love.

          It started with a kiss, as so many things do.

          Ian was idly stirring a pot of mac and cheese while straining to hear the television in the next room when the front door opened up, and he took a break from dinner to peer into the living room. He broke into a smile when he saw Mickey, shrugging his jacket off and looking annoyed.

          “Hey,” Ian called, going back to his overboiling pot. He heard Mickey grumble out a return greeting and was about to ask him how his day had been when the shower turned on in the other room, and he figured he’d have to wait until later to find out what had Mickey so pissed off. Mickey was usually irritated though, so Ian wasn’t too hung up on it as he refocused his attention on dinner and the episode of Jeopardy he had going in the background.

          Mickey was even more silent than usual while they ate, barely looking at Ian even though he had his feet kicked up on Mickey’s lap and his mouth was moving nonstop, trying to guess the answer before the contestants onscreen could and chattering about nothing during commercial breaks. Finally, after a very long story about one of Carl’s latest experiments—which involved fire, a bottle rocket, and a short trip to the hospital—was met by nothing but a vague grunt, Ian grabbed Mickey’s bowl of pasta and held it high out of his reach, and Mickey finally relented to turn to him.

          “What the fuck?” he griped, reaching for his dinner, but Ian planted a firm hand on his chest and held him down against the couch. Mickey fought him for a about a minute before he inevitably gave up, crossing his arms and glaring up at Ian in a way that Ian knew better than to point out looked distinctly like a pouting child.

          Ian carefully put the bowl down in case this turned into another fight, and then he turned back to Mickey. Predictably, Mickey made another attempt to wrestle Ian off of him, and Ian had to clamor on top of him and sit on his stomach to subdue him.

          “What’s got you so distracted, huh?” he asked when he was sure Mickey wasn’t going anywhere, because Mickey still wasn’t looking at him. He poked him in the neck, forcing Mickey’s eyes back to his. “Hey. Come on, what’s going on with you today?”

          “Nothing,” Mickey insisted, jabbing at Ian’s sides. “Just some heavy-ass redhead won’t get off me and let me eat in peace.”

          Ian rolled his eyes. “Tell me what’s up and I’ll get off you,” he insisted.

          Mickey sighed dramatically and lowered his hands, settling them over Ian’s hips instead. He stared resolutely at his fingers, rubbing lightly over the skin visible where he had pushed up Ian’s shirt, instead of at his face.

          “Just some guys at work,” Mickey mumbled finally. He paused, and Ian ran his hands soothingly down Mickey’s chest, encouraging him to continue. “They found a picture of you on my phone and started asking questions…then one of them said some shit about how he couldn’t wait to meet you in the dark somewhere, like a bar or something…get you alone.”

          Ian still wasn’t sure exactly what direction this was headed in, but he continued his slow mapping of Mickey’s torso, fingers light against his ribs. Mickey still was not looking at him. He continued,

          “So I asked him what the hell that meant, you know, figured he thought that even if he couldn’t get a piece of me he thought he could take you. Would’ve let you had him, too, you can totally kick his ass. But he didn’t…he meant…” Mickey took a deep breath. “He figures he can seduce you away from me.”

          Ian’s fingers tightened in Mickey’s shirt for a half second before he reached to cradle his face, leaning down to lay their foreheads together. Mickey had nowhere to look but up at him, and Ian made sure he had Mickey’s full attention before he spoke, low and fierce.

          “Hey. I’m yours, okay? There’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

          “I know,” Mickey said, clearly uncomfortable, but he was clinging to Ian’s back, preventing him from moving even if he wanted to. “And I fucking hit him for it, I swear. I just…”

          “I love you,” Ian said, practically snarled. “No, hey, look at me. I fucking love you, so fucking much. You’re it for me. I don’t care what some prick at work thinks he can do. He doesn’t know what he’s fucking with.”

          Mickey cut his eyes away, studying Ian’s throat. His thumbs dug in a little harder where they were rubbing above his waist. “I know,” he said again, but his eyebrows were creased and he still looked unsure.

          Ian growled out in frustration, leaning away from him. “Are you fucking serious?” he asked, glaring down at Mickey, because this had to be some sort of ridiculous joke. “Do you really not know how much I love you? Or do you just not fucking believe me?”

          Mickey fidgeted beneath him, playing with the hem of Ian’s t-shirt. He glanced up at him, and Ian could feel how set his own face was, how frustrated. “That’s the first time you’ve said it,” Mickey pointed out.

          Which didn’t sound right, but maybe it was. Ian hadn’t really thought they’d had to say it to know it, because Mickey hadn’t said it either but Ian had made his peace with that a long time ago. It had stung a little in the beginning, but he still _knew_ it, could feel it in the way Mickey touched him and smiled at him and the little things—how Mickey always had his morning medication on the table with breakfast, how Mickey never fell asleep without some part of them touching, how Mickey couldn’t seem to get enough of him even after all these years.

          Ian rubbed at his face, wondering how best to get him to understand. When he eyed him, Mickey just looked nervous, biting his lip and looking anywhere but Ian, like he would gladly exit this conversation if he didn’t have someone sitting on top of him. Ian sighed. He leaned back down to him, and he could feel Mickey’s breathing speed up slightly though he barely brushed their lips together. Not a real kiss, but enough that Mickey would feel the words as Ian spoke them.

          “You need me to say it?” Ian asked. He pushed Mickey’s hair back with one hand, tightening into a decent grip on the strands. “I love you. I love you, I love you.”

          Ian could feel Mickey’s little inhale before he leaned up to crush their lips together. Ian sighed contentedly and pushed Mickey back into the couch, opening for him when Mickey licked at his lips, kissing him slow and deep for a second before he pulled away. He rested his forehead against Mickey’s collarbone.

          “I love you,” he said again, pressing his lips against Mickey’s skin beneath him. “I love you.” He kissed a little higher, into the dip below his throat, and grinned against him before he whispered, “I love you, my love.”

          Mickey’s startled laugh made Ian pull back, and he smiled wider at Mickey’s red, confused expression. “Don’t call me that,” Mickey said severely.

          Ian hid his face in Mickey’s neck and pressed another kiss there. “My love,” he said again, sing-song. Mickey laughed and pushed at his chest, and Ian kissed a path up his neck and to his jaw. He hovered above his lips, and Mickey was still smiling embarrassedly.

          “I love you, my love,” Ian said again, and he kissed him hard.

          And that’s how it started.

 

~*~

 

          Ian didn’t stop, even when Mickey got annoyed. That came quickly, the annoyance; he was pretty much aggravated after the first twenty minutes, when Ian said, “Come to bed, love,” and Mickey said, “Call me that one more time and I’m not touching your dick for a week.” Which was an empty threat, but Ian decided not to push it, just in case Mickey got serious about it later.

          He sprung it on him again the next night instead, when they were both laying on the couch in grubby sweatpants and throwing popcorn at each other to see if they could catch any in their mouths.

          The salt was making Ian thirsty, and he threw a handful of popcorn at Mickey’s head to get his attention.

          “What?” Mickey asked, harsher than necessary, as he brushed the popcorn off of himself and onto the floor.

          “Wanna get me some water?” Ian asked.

          “Not really.”

          “ _Mickey_ ,” Ian complained, kicking at him. “Please? I’ll owe you a favor.”

          Mickey lit up at that. He pretended to contemplate the offer, but he was smirking as he rolled to his feet. “A favor, huh? Fine. Wonder what it will be.”

          “Can’t imagine,” Ian said, smacking at Mickey’s ass when he walked past him to get to the kitchen. Mickey swatted his hand away, but he seemed relatively unbothered as he made his way to the fridge, Ian swiveling to watch him walk away.

          Ian turned his eyes back to his snack, listening to Mickey putter around the kitchen. He returned after less than a minute, shoving the water into Ian’s hands and tossing himself back down on the couch opposite him, legs thrown over Ian’s.

          Ian passed the popcorn back to Mickey and took a long drink, then wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and said, “Thanks, love.”

          He felt something hit his forehead and looked up; Mickey had thrown popcorn back at him in irritation.

          “Stop fucking saying that!”

          Ian kicked him again. “But you are!”

          “Well, that’s my favor then. I’m calling it in.” Mickey raised his eyebrows as Ian’s mouth dropped open, and he looked smug in the face of Ian’s offence. “No more of that shit, you have to stop calling me ‘love.’”

          Ian crossed his arms, aware that he was pouting as he sank back into the arm of the couch, but he _had_ promised him one unstipulated favor. He had just hoped it would involve a little more cock, but whatever. “Fine.”

          Mickey seemed satisfied, settling back as well. He started throwing popcorn up into the air and trying to catch it himself, apparently unaware of Ian’s continued indignation. He was evidently confident that that was that.

          Ian watched him pensively. He was already contemplating a way around Mickey’s demand. Damn it, Mickey Milkovich was going to feel loved if it was the last thing Ian did.

 

~*~

 

          Ian woke up the next morning to an empty bed. He could smell bacon in the kitchen and eagerly threw the covers off himself; between the marathon sex last night and the eight hours of sleep, he was starving.

          He padded into the kitchen where Mickey was standing over the stove, and Ian just leaned against the doorway for a second, taking the sight in. Mickey was wearing a pullover hoodie that Ian was pretty sure was his based on how long it was on Mickey, falling down to halfway down his bare thighs. The sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. Mickey looked like he was drowning in it, but he looked good too, naked except for a single piece of Ian’s clothing that barely hid enough to be considered decent, and even then just barely so.

          “You gonna stand there watching me all day?” Mickey asked, breaking Ian from his hungry examination. Ian shrugged off the wall and walked up behind Mickey, sliding his arms around his waist and nuzzling into the side of his face. Mickey leaned back against him a little and said, “Morning.”

          “Mmm, morning,” Ian said, rubbing his cheek against Mickey’s. “This my sweatshirt?”

          Mickey looked down, plucking at the front of it. “Oh, I guess,” he said, even though he must have known. “First thing I grabbed, you throw all your shit on the floor when you take it off.”

          Ian snorted. “Like you’re much better,” he teased, planting a quick kiss on the side of his face. Mickey grabbed at his arm when he went to pull away, so Ian settled closer to his back, kissing him properly when he tilted his face up to look at him.

          “Well excuse me,” Mickey said, not sounding sorry at all as he turned back to the stove. “I’ll make sure not to take your shit next time.”

          “Don’t worry, I like it,” Ian said, ignoring the sarcasm in favor of squeezing Mickey reassuringly around the middle. “I think you look great in my clothes, my love.”

          Mickey elbowed him in the ribs. “Lay off with the ‘love’ shit,” he said, struggling against Ian’s hold on him. “I told you, I was just being stupid. And you promised you’d stop.”

          “You didn’t seriously believe me, did you? No,” Ian said stubbornly, squeezing him firmly to halt him when it was clear Mickey was gearing up to interrupt. “You obviously don’t know how much I love you, so now you’re gonna hear it. All the time.”

          “ _Ian_ —”

          “It’s not up for debate,” he said, laying one last kiss on his cheek and pulling away. “I gotta go take my pills. Be right back.”

          “Fuck off. Food’ll be done when you get back,” Mickey called, still sounding disgruntled. Ian waved over his shoulder to show he’d heard him.

          When Ian returned to the kitchen, the bacon was still in the pan, pushed now to the back of the stove while Mickey was at the counter trying to reach up into the cabinets. Ian looked on with amusement as Mickey stretched up, fingers scrabbling against bowls and cups as he angled for a plate that was just out of his reach.

          “Need some help?” Ian asked, biting down a laugh.

          Mickey paused with a knee halfway onto the counter and whipped around to glare at him, sinking back to both feet. “I’ve got it,” he snapped, although he made no move to do anything but grip the counter behind him a little more tightly.

          Ian laughed and waved him off, stepping around him to grab a plate for their breakfast. “It’s okay, my love,” he said. He laughed and wrapped an arm around Mickey’s waist, pulling him in for a reluctant kiss. “My little love,” he added. He laughed outright, and Mickey pulled away from him, disgust plain on his face. Ian didn’t let up, “My tiny love. My itty bitty, baby love.”

          “I fucking hate you,” Mickey groused, snatching the plate from his hands and stalking back over to the stove. Ian could only grin.

          “You said you’d stop,” Mickey reminded him.

          “I didn’t call you ‘love,’” Ian pointed out. “Not technically. I called you ‘ _little_ love.’”

          Mickey leveled him with another glare.

          Mickey dumped the bacon on a plate and Ian followed him out of the kitchen, sitting down across from him at the table and shoveling two pieces of bacon into his mouth at once. Mickey batted his hand away when he reached for another one, saying, “Hey, save some for the chef why don’t you.”

          Ian grabbed Mickey’s hand before he could pull it back, settling their joined hands on the table. Mickey watched him guardedly for a second, but then he relaxed, evidently satisfied that Ian was done with his teasing, and he started eating with his free hand.

          They settled into aimless small talk while they polished off their breakfast. When they were done, Mickey went to get dressed while Ian dumped everything in the sink. He made it back to their bedroom in time to see Mickey pulling on some clothes out of the dresser, and he stifled a laugh against his hand.

          “What?” Mickey asked, looking down at himself.

          Ian crossed the room, reaching for him, and Mickey settled comfortably against him. Ian pulled at the bottom of the t-shirt he was wearing, and it stretched further than it should have if it was in the correct size. “This is my shirt,” he said. He pushed his hands up under the material, across Mickey’s warm skin.

          “Oh.” Mickey hesitated, then shrugged and moved to pull it off, but Ian used his grip on Mickey’s sides to back him up until he hit the wall with a loud thud. Mickey looked up at him, pausing in his undressing. “What the fuck?”

          Ian leaned close, lips brushing Mickey’s jaw by his ear. “I told you,” he said, basking in the shiver that ran through Mickey when he spoke like this, low and husky. “I like seeing you in my clothes.”

          “Yeah?” Mickey asked, and they both ignored how shaky his voice was.

          “Yeah,” Ian breathed back. He paused to nip at Mickey’s earlobe before he went on, “You looking fucking hot in my t-shirt, Mick. Jesus, makes me wanna strip it right off you—”

          He was interrupted by Mickey’s lips, which caught his as he turned his head. Ian pushed him further back against the wall, letting Mickey lick into his mouth. He thought he had maybe won a few extra minutes of play time this morning when he slid his hands down, but as soon as he squeezed at Mickey’s ass, Mickey pulled away. He was breathing harder than usual against Ian’s neck as he said, “We don’t have time for this.”

          “I think we have time for it,” Ian said lightly, kissing down Mickey’s throat instead. He dragged his teeth across his pulse point and felt Mickey arch up into him. He smirked, bringing a hand around to grope Mickey through his jeans. “Feels like _you_ think we have time for it.”

          “We don’t,” Mickey insisted, contrary to the way he was pressing his hips up into Ian’s hand. “Ian—”

          “Hmm?” Ian asked, lips ghosting across Mickey’s skin until he found a suitable spot. He paused to unzip Mickey’s jeans, shoving them halfway down his thighs, and he started sucking hard at his neck at the same time that he wrapped a hand around his cock. Mickey’s legs fell open a little wider as Ian started stroking him.

          “Ian,” Mickey tried again. “We don’t— _oh fuck_ , oh fuck, do that again.”

          Ian hid his smirk against him and obliged, twisting his hand just right and latching back onto Mickey’s neck as he did.

          Mickey was moaning before long. Ian dropped his free hand down to Mickey’s thigh and hitched it up around his waist, and he started jerking him even faster. Mickey’s leg tightened around him and Ian squeezed his thigh encouragingly.

          “Yeah, come on Mickey,” he whispered, teeth grazing his jawline. Mickey groaned, his head dropping back against the wall. “Fuck, look at you. You gonna come for me already?”

          Mickey’s gripped his shoulders, fucking up into his hand now, his eyes shut tight. “Ian…”

          “Yeah, come on,” Ian murmured, just as Mickey whined, high and needy. “You’re so good like this, fuck, come on.” He spotted a bead of sweat dripping across Mickey’s neck and paused to lick at it, felt Mickey’s hips stutter against his hand. He abandoned Mickey’s leg, which only hitched tighter around him on its own, to tilt his chin towards him; Ian caught him in a sloppy kiss right as Mickey came, moaning raggedly into his mouth.

          When he was done, Ian wiped his hand on the ruined shirt Mickey was wearing and stepped back, smiling smugly. Mickey tried to glare, but it was remarkably unintimidating while he was panting through bright red lips, a satisfied flush on his cheeks, his pants still around his thighs.

          “Shit.” Mickey made a solid attempt at a bored, drawling tone, hiking his jeans back up and zipping them shut.

          “Shit,” Ian agreed.

          Mickey rolled his eyes and shoved past him, stripping off the now-stained t-shirt and throwing it into the corner of the room. “Now we’re _really_ late,” Mickey said. He started rifling through the dresser again for something less covered in jizz to wear. “I don’t even have time to get you back.”

          Ian pushed him out of the way and dug through the drawer, coming up with a plain black t-shirt and throwing it at Mickey’s chest. “You can make it up to me on the way,” said Ian. “I drive, you suck my dick. Everybody wins.”

          Mickey fixed him with an unimpressed look and shrugged the shirt on. He glanced down at it, then back up at Ian. “This yours too?”

          “I told you,” Ian said, backing him up against the dresser by the hips, “it makes you look good. Even better than usual.”

          Mickey scoffed and leaned up to kiss him, short and sweet. “Whatever, man. You’re fucking weird.”

          “Does that make you Weird?” Ian asked.

          Mickey snorted, unimpressed with the joke. “Okay, doucheface. You’re the one getting his rocks off on other dudes in his t-shirts. Which are _huge_ on me, by the way.” He rolled his shoulders as though to indicate how much room he had inside the shirt. He reached up to ruffle Ian’s hair and added, “Fucking giant.”

          “I know,” said Ian. He smiled and leaned down to kiss Mickey one more time. “But it’s cute.” He ignored Mickey’s irritation at that, the way he turned his head and glared out at nothing like he couldn’t even look at Ian when he was being like this. Ian, of course, had to push it. “My love. Little Mickey. Mickey, my little love.”

          Mickey shoved him off, muttering expletives and stalking out of the room. “Ugh, are you still fucking on that?” he shouted, while Ian snickered to himself in their bedroom. “Give it a rest!”

          The door slammed. Ian waited until the last of his laughter abated before following him out.

 

~*~

 

          Ian didn’t let up. He used the pet name at every available opportunity, and always in the same sweet voice that he knew was guaranteed to make Mickey sick.

          “How was your day, little love?”

          “Do you want a beer, little love?”

          “You need me to reach that for you, little love?”

          “I love you, little love.”

          Despite his initial protests, Mickey stopped fighting it after awhile, relaxing into the nickname.

          They were in bed one night, Ian laying on his side with his face tucked into Mickey’s neck, Mickey’s hands stroking through his hair, when Ian brought it up. He lifted his head a little to look down at Mickey where he was laying on his back. Ian’s eyes narrowed contemplatively.

          “What?” Mickey asked, fingers still brushing through the hair on the back of Ian’s head.

          “You like it, don’t you?” Ian accused.

          “What?”

          “You like being my little love,” he said, watching Mickey carefully. Although his nose wrinkled in distaste, a faint blush was creeping over Mickey’s cheeks, which let Ian know that he had pretty much hit the nail on the head. “Ha, I knew it!” He leaned down to nuzzle back into Mickey’s neck, kissing there while Mickey laughed.

          “Alright, alright!” Mickey admitted, pushing Ian away from him, but Ian only rolled on top of him, pinning him to the bed and catching his face in his hands. Mickey quieted, reaching up to wrap his hands around Ian’s wrists. He inhaled shakily, meeting his eyes. “Maybe I don’t _hate_ it,” he allowed.

          Ian grinned and leaned down to kiss him, pulling back before Mickey could even get it in his head to deepen it. “It’s okay, you know,” Ian assured him, dipping down to press another kiss to his nose. “I only say it because I want you to know it.”

          “Know what?” Mickey asked. “That I’m short?”

          Ian thought maybe he was being deliberately difficult; he decided to indulge him. He kissed him one more time, sucking briefly on his lip, and then rolled off of him. He didn’t go far, just burrowed back into his side, sliding an arm around Mickey’s chest and snaking a leg over one of his.

          “No,” Ian said, face hidden in his neck again, “I want you to know that I love you.”

          “I do know that.” Mickey rubbed at Ian’s back with the arm curled around him, the other reaching over to stroke along his cheek. “I know you do.”

          “I don’t want you forgetting it. Ever,” Ian insisted. His voice came out slightly muffled, pressed against Mickey’s skin. “You were right. We don’t say it enough.”

          “We don’t _have_ to say it,” Mickey sighed. “We just _know_.”

          Ian shrugged best he could from his position. “Doesn’t mean it’s not nice to hear sometimes,” he said.

          Mickey didn’t mount a rebuttal. Ian shifted even closer to him, pressing up against Mickey with every inch of his body. He wondered what Mickey was thinking about, but the conversation was evidently over, and he was feeling a bit too lethargic to start it up again. He felt Mickey’s breathing slow more and more until Ian thought he must have fallen asleep. He was close to unconsciousness himself when he felt Mickey lean over, and lips brushed his forehead.

          “Goodnight,” Mickey whispered. “I love you.”

          Ian sighed contentedly, sleepily, and shuffled around until he could press a kiss directly beneath Mickey’s ear.

          “Goodnight, little love.”

**Author's Note:**

> hmu if you're bitter trash too at [fuku-up](http://www.fuku-up.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
